


too hard to bite, not worth the fight

by Directionless_Foray



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Angst, M/M, it's not super shippy but it's THERE
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:44:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21880006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Directionless_Foray/pseuds/Directionless_Foray
Summary: Charles finds it funny how much everyone gets wrong about Vegas.
Relationships: Charles Leclerc/Daniel Ricciardo
Comments: 24
Kudos: 127





	too hard to bite, not worth the fight

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to apologise in advance. I have never been to Vegas, what I know is gleaned from that one story arc in 'Friends' and the 'Ocean's 11' trilogy.
> 
> Also, this all made a lot more sense in my head. 
> 
> Title from 'six speed' by ROLE MODEL. This song always reminds me of Charles for some reason. Highly recommend listening to it.

Charles finds it funny how much everyone gets wrong about Vegas. 

His response is always a close-lipped smile that doesn't reach his eyes.

People seem to think he doesn't want to tell him because it was so salacious or embarrassing or something else along those lines.

The truth is Charles doesn't tell anyone because he simply wouldn't know where to start.

_(Rumour: Charles and Daniel happened to be in Vegas at the same time.)_

Honestly, Charles just had nothing better to do. His options were going home to lick his wounds or doing that in a hotel room in another country.

Daniel was talking about Vegas. About candy-coloured lights and a world that felt like heaven and hell or something in between.

Charles said he'd never been.

Daniel had smiled.

The next thing he knew he was on a plane with a group of people he didn't know and Daniel.

He only remembered to text his mother that he was going to Vegas once he landed.

_Ok, have fun and be safe_, is her reply and Charles is about to type out his own reply when they're in the elevator.

"Our rooms are next to each other," Daniel nudges him, "I hope you don't mind loud music," he teases.

Charles wishes he could banter back and forth with Daniel like he sees him doing with other people but Charles' mouth has been cursed to speak only plain truths.

He just says, "I don't mind."

Daniel smiles but he's watching Charles now and it's so understanding that Charles almost forgets to text his mother for the second time that day.

_(Rumour: They only saw each other once or twice.)_

Charles eats pancakes for breakfast five days in a row.

His trainer would probably scream at him if he knew. But Daniel beamed and nodded approvingly the first time Charles ordered it and that somehow matters more.

The pancakes are thick and spongy and drenched in sticky syrup.

If Charles is being perfectly honest, they're not particularly appetising but sometimes Daniel will across the little table in the booth and insist that Charles has whipped cream and strawberries on top "to celebrate."

Charles doesn't know what they're celebrating but it feels rude to ask.

So Charles eats pancakes for breakfast five days in a row.

It's disgusting. The sugary, doughy mass sits heavily in his stomach for what feels like hours.

Charles wonders why he's so pathetic. He can't even pick his breakfast without having to rely on some imagined approval from someone else.

But then Daniel will laugh or start singing out loud or tell Charles he should pose for a picture and Charles-

Charles' mind is blissfully empty for a few seconds. Blank white expanses and rolling fields of green.

His head fills with the sound of Daniel's voice and its effect on him, pushing out every other thought until it takes up all the space like helium filling a balloon.

Charles has never done drugs, he's got enough problems as is without adding drugs into the mix. But he has a feeling that this feeling is not unlike the feeling of doing drugs.

This way at least, his repeated coming back for more makes a lot more sense.

_(Rumour: It was gambling, strippers, and a weekend of debauchery.)_

Charles actually spends a lot of time just walking.

Daniel is so easily amused, anything from a kitschy speciality hotdog restaurant to an afternoon at the Aquarium seems to provide him with equal levels of delight.

Daniel squints to read the information on the little signs next to the stingray tank. He taps his pointer finger under the scientific species name and looks up to try and identify one.

Charles just watches Daniel. He's seen stingrays before. He doesn't need to know which one is which.

Daniel whoops when he successfully locates the stingray in question.

Charles doesn't think he was ever like this even as a child. It's sad. Just more proof that he probably never was, or ever will be, as happy as Daniel is.

He should probably hate him. It wouldn't be hard.

But it's Daniel.

So it probably _would_ be hard.

They spend hours walking up and down the strip at night. Daniel is patient, never seems to mind if Charles doesn't have anything profound to say.

Sometimes Daniel talks about growing up in Australia or how much he misses his friends who still live there, Charles doesn't have much to add that wouldn't ruin the tentative peace so he just tries to listen attentively.

If Daniel minds he doesn't say so.

Deep down, Charles wonders if maybe Daniel is tired of talking. Maybe he's been waiting for someone to just _listen._ Daniel talks a lot but Charles doesn't think he gets to say what he really thinks very often.

Or maybe that's just Charles trying to justify his total lack of a functioning personality.

Either way, Charles does a lot of listening. It's not like he ever has much to say anyway. He doesn't mind. 

One night they're sitting by a fountain. Vegas is aglow around and behind and in front of them.

For some reason, Charles tells Daniel about that time he lost his soft toy on holiday.

It's not even related to what they were talking about before. He just suddenly feels the need to say _something_.

So he tells Daniel about the old, blue knitted rabbit with the shiny black button eyes that his mother replaced at least six times. The one he would sleep with clutched to his chest every night.

How he took it on a trip to Italy when he was seven. How all he remembers is playing in the park and laughing and having the best day of his young life but then the shock of getting back to the hotel and realising he'd lost his toy.

Daniel watches him and doesn't say anything. The flashing lights of the neon signs are reflected in his pupils.

Charles can't stop speaking, it's probably more than he's said in the past week but he can't stop. So he tells Daniel about how he cried for two days afterwards and didn't sleep properly for almost a month anyway. 

"Whatever though, right?" he finishes lamely. His skin is buzzing and his hand is shaking slightly, he doesn't know why, "I was a stupid kid, it was probably my fault for leaving in a sandpit or something."

He expects Daniel to make a joke, restore the easy comfortable equilibrium that Charles clumsily shattered with his oversharing.

Instead, he just shrugs, "the things that fuck you up will _fuck you up,_" he presses his shoulder against Charles' and somehow it's exactly what Charles needs. Something steady and warm and _still_ that he can recalibrate his thumping heart to.

"Getting over and moving on from shit is something you owe yourself not other people."

They sit there for a little longer until Charles stops shaking. 

Charles is unpacking his bags back in his apartment when he notices something stuffed at the bottom of his backpack.

He pulls it out.

It's a soft toy. A rabbit.

It's the wrong colour, grey instead of blue, and it's wearing a tacky red t-shirt with the logo of their Vegas hotel on it, but the moment he sees it he just _knows._

It feels like someone set off a bomb inside his ribcage.

Charles has to stop unpacking and sit down for a few minutes. He presses his fingertips to his eyes and is surprised by the wetness he finds there.

His tears trickle down his chin and drip onto his jeans.

He doesn't text Daniel about it. He doesn't even know what to he would say.

_(Rumour: Daniel fucked him. They fucked.)_

Charles supposes this one is the closest to the truth. 


End file.
